Redefine The Lines Of Us
by soulache
Summary: Wilson hopes to define the line between his friendship with House and something more. rated M for future chapters. R&R if I should continue.
1. A Tired Thought Revealing

Paperwork had to get more boring by every second, Wilson thought. His eyes were blurring under the influence of bad lighting and too many hours spent awake. Yet he kept reading because being here meant he wasn't alone, and being alone was something he was never very good at. So instead of letting his thoughts carry him away on a flood of memories he focused on the paperwork. Wilson knew he wasn't the first person to do this, and surely would not be the last.

As he heard the sound of his door being swung open he put the papers down. He couldn't really be sure who would still be here at this hour. When tired brown eyes met a pair of brilliant blue it was hard not to act completely shocked.

"House? What are you doing here at this hour? Isn't there a bad television program and cold beer with your name on it?"

"Of course. There was also a puzzle in the form of a patient that needed my brilliant expertise," House's voice was filled with that dry wit that only he could infuse.

"Ah, well that would explain it."

Wilson offered a tired, but still mischievous half smile. House smirked back and Wilson couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked rumpled and smug. At that thought he furiously had to back peddle. Had he just thought House, his best friend, his_ male_ best friend was attractive? It was nothing. He was just tired, that was all, he had only had a bag of chips for lunch and it was all going to his head.

"What are you still doing here? I'm assuming your patients will still be dying in the morning."

"Or dead."

"Wilson... did you just... make a funny about dying people?" It was House's turn to be the one unable to hide his shock.

"What? No, I -" Wilson sputtered, gesticulating wildly.

"Yes! You did! You made a joke about your dying patients. Man, it was good too. You shouldn't be ashamed. Be proud. Hey! I know. Maybe we could make you a shirt with that printed on it! It would definitely lighten the mood when you break the news to them."

Wilson rolled his eyes, looked back down to his paperwork hoping House and all of his distractions would usher themselves out of his office. Of course, House was House and that meant he wouldn't leave until he was good and ready.

"House, what do you want?" Wilson kept his eyes focused on the papers as he asked this question. He was afraid of looking at House's face and thinking... no, that didn't happen. If you don't think about it then it never happened.

"I want you to go home. Or better yet, come to my place. I have beer. I might share if you make me some food. Or better yet still, you can cook all bare foot in my kitchen and I'll sit in the living room and you can bring me beer. Except you don't have breasts or a vag-"

"Whoa. Okay. Get my coat?" He said as he organized the papers and left them on his desk.

"I'm the crippled. You should be doing things for me. Hey Wilson, buy me a loft with lots of windows and naked models?"

But while House was giving this speech he had moved towards the chair where Wilson's jacket was slouched bonelessly over the back. His hand gripped the material and Wilson's eyes followed the movements of House's body, an unfamiliar ache filling him.

No, not completely unfamiliar. It was yearning, it was just unfamiliar to be directed towards someone without breasts and a vag-

"Come on, little buddy! We're burning... well, not daylight, that's for sure," House said as he made a show of squinting out the window. Wilson laughed and shook his head as his steps fell into perfect harmony with House's.

Wilson shoved these weird thoughts away at the back of his mind, unwilling to think about what they meant, if they meant anything at all.


	2. A Connected Disconnection

Time was a precarious thing, a tenuous thing. We measured it with calendars and clocks, with the sun rising and setting. Really though, it was endless from start to finish. Life was just one big, vast tangle of time.

As House and Wilson watched the television, House thought about time. He thought about the time it took for his beer to develop condensation and run down his hand, he thought about the time he wasted in front of his television, and he thought about the time he's spent waiting for Wilson.

House's feelings for his best friend were in a gray area. It wasn't something he tried to dwell on too much, wasn't something he tried to examine in the light of day. Sitting here though, with Wilson close enough to touch, it was difficult. His heart kept speeding up, and fragments of song lyrics kept getting stuck in his head reminding him of the man next to him swallowing a sip of beer, neck working, chest rising and falling, lips glistening.

"Hey House," Wilson said softly. He pretended not to hear him so Wilson would tap him on the shoulder, maybe he was starved for a little human affection. Maybe he was just starved for Wilson, not that he would ever let him know that. Wilson fingers touched his shoulder and maybe even lingered longer than necessary.

"Yeah, what do you want?" His voice came out gruff and annoyed. It was something he really couldn't help, it seemed to have developed into the natural tone of his voice. 

"Are you okay?"

"Are you serious?" House groaned, head sinking back into the couch cushion until he was looking up at the ceiling. Wilson slid into a similar position, his deep brown eyes resting on House's face when he dared a glance. He found himself trapped in Wilson's gaze, unable to look away.

"Yeah. I mean you invited me over and I don't even have food or anything. You didn't even have food. We had to eat popcorn. Usually you won't even open the door unless I have something to cook you. And you've been unnaturally silent. It's eerie. I'm not used to watching television without your snide side remarks." House watched Wilson's lips tilt into a famous half smile. It was wistful and soft, far away.

"Yeah, I'm fine," House said shrugging. He couldn't get into telling Wilson how he felt. The fear of losing control of the situation, the fear of rejection, the fear of the end of their friendship left a metallic taste in his mouth. He was scared.

"House," Wilson voice half-stern and tired, "If something were wrong... if something were going on would you tell me?"

"Depends on what it was." Their eyes were still on the other's face, their bodies unmoved.

"What couldn't you tell me?" Wilson voice was torn now between concern and slight panic.

"Wilson, get your panties out of a bunch. Some things are just private. Some things people just don't talk about."

"Why not?" House let out a long suffering sigh. "No, come on. Why not?"

"Because I'm House and you're Wilson," he said offhandedly. Wilson looked hurt, but gave a slight nod as if he himself had used the same logic once or twice.

"You can tell me anything," Wilson felt it necessary to give one last attempt at cracking House's heart open and maybe for once really see what was going on inside of it.

House moved his body until his shoulder was touching Wilson's. Wilson didn't recoil, didn't act shocked, he just straightened himself up and leaned into the touch pressing his arm more firmly against House's.

"House..." Wilson tried again.

"Just shut up and watch the T.V." He said without looking at Wilson's face. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to look at Wilson again.

"Okay..." Wilson unsure, wounded voice echoed minutes later, long after the conversation had died off. But their arms were still touching, they were still leaning against one another, connected though both lost in a world of their own confusing thoughts. 


	3. Look How They Shine For You

Wilson sat alone in the almost completely abandoned cafeteria eating a late lunch. He had been detained by having to assure a patient of his that he would do everything he could to save her, to get rid of the cancer. It still didn't look good though, not really, not if he was to be truthful. But if she needed hope, and there was still a glimmer left who was he to deny her of it? Realistic hope, he corrected, as he had clearly outlined the risks and percentages to her. Blind faith was a scary thing.

Unable to stand the sound of his own thoughts he fished for his iPod which he had pocketed when he had stopped to put his patient's file back. He skipped many songs until he came upon the one song that he had become attached to and cranked the volume up. As the first chords of it started playing he rested his head in his hands and tried to let the tension seep out of his body, but as he did this images of House started to flood his mind. 

Did he like this song so much because it reminded him of his feelings for House? Maybe that was the only explanation to why the song never failed to bring his face into his mind. But what did this mean? Did he have romantic feelings for his best friend? His male best friend. House. Did he have feelings for House?

As shock and unease tingled down his spine he straightened, opened his eyes to see the cause of his main worries sitting across from him eating off of his tray. He sighed and House said something, but Wilson couldn't make it out exactly.

"What did you say?" Wilson asked as he pulled a headphone out of his ear.

"I said _where have you been?_" House's blue eyes narrowed shrewdly on his face. "I was getting really hungry, you know."

"I was with a patient going over a treatment plan." 

"Okay. I thought maybe you were avoiding me and I'd have to stop weaving your best friend forever bracelet." A wry smile passed over his rugged features and Wilson couldn't help but give a small smile back.

"Oh no, weave away," Wilson said with a slight gesture of his hand.

Silence settled over the two as House continued to eat Wilson's chips. Wilson waited until the song was over and then switched it back so it began to play again. He wasn't in the mood to hear anything else today.

"What are you listening to, Boy Wonder?"

"I've asked you not to call me that in public," Wilson whispered conspiratorially as he leaned over the table. He settled back in his chair without answering. 

"Come on," House whined in a mock little boy's voice that he was so prone to using. "I wanna know!"

"Here," Wilson moved his chair to the side of the table where House sat and passed him a headphone. He didn't question why he had moved closer to House instead of just telling him the song's name, and neither did House.

House grabbed the iPod from Wilson's hand. At the feel of House's calloused fingers Wilson couldn't help but have to stifle a gasp. A surge of electricity, a surge of attraction, a surge of wanting swelled through his body from head to toe.

"Yellow by Coldplay."

"Huh?" Wilson replied dumbly, too much in shock to have really heard what House had said.

"I said," House repeated in an obnoxiously loud tone, "Yellow by Coldplay. You're listening to Coldplay."

"Yes."

House laughed and wrinkled his nose in disgust, whether it was real or in mockery was undecipherable to Wilson's new eyes. It felt as if everything about them, about their friendship and about House had just been completely tossed out the window and he was sitting next to someone he didn't really know.

"Why are you listening to this garbage?" House said with a heaving sigh.

"I like the lyrics," Wilson answered simplistically.

"You actually listen to the lyrics?"

"It's the thing that makes me decide whether or not I like a song," he said.

"You're a dying breed, Boy Wonder."

"Thanks." The song stopped and he went to turn his iPod off but House's hand touched his again and it proved there would be no hiding from this.

"Put it on again." House demanded.

"Why? You didn't seem to like it," Wilson sounded generally confused.

"I want to listen to the lyrics this time."

Wilson turned it back on and they sat in silence. House nodded during some points of the song, just slightly that no one else may have even noticed it. Wilson however was hyper-aware of the movements of the man next to him.

Finally the song ended after what seemed like an eternity and he found he almost couldn't even look at House. Wilson knew that House would know what or who the lyrics reminded him of.

When he looked up House's eyes were filled with something he couldn't place, had never seen in the startling blue depths.

"Not bad," House said as he stood up and Wilson couldn't bring himself to call House back so he watched him leave.

And when he went home that night he replayed that song over and over again. He replayed those two words over and over in his head.

He fell asleep to mixed phrases. _Not bad. Turn into something beautiful. Not bad. For you I bleed myself dry. Not bad. You know I love you so. Not bad._

But wasn't it?


	4. Truth Or Lie, Fight Or Flight

House continued to keep denying what he thought he had seen in Wilson's eyes in the cafeteria. He told himself that he was merely projecting his feelings for his best friend onto him. That there was really nothing there. If this was either the truth, or just a tactic because he was scared of losing Wilson he couldn't be sure. All that mattered is that the explanation fit all the symptoms.

Getting ready for work that day seemed to take much longer than usual. He even tried to go through his catalogue of memories to see if there was a certain outfit that Wilson had ever paid him a compliment on. All that came through was his snide remarks about his sneakers. So he chose the usual t-shirt, jacket, jeans combo and gave a disparaging glance towards the mirror.

As he finally limped into his office, about a half hour late, he was a little off balance when he saw Wilson sitting at his desk. Tossing his bag onto the floor and throwing his cane down with it he took the seat opposite of him.

"If you're me, and I'm you that means I have nurses to be flirting with. I really don't feel particularly charming enough for it this morning."

"House," Wilson said warningly, "I'm not in the mood."

"Aw, do you have a headache dear? That time of the month? Already been sexually sated by the pool boy?" House said with a sneer in Wilson's direction. So he was acting extra grumpy today, so what?

"Things have been..."

"Define things?"

"Things between you and I," Wilson stated as if that explained everything. House's heartbeat kicked up a notch. Did Wilson suspect that he was harboring feelings for him?

"Things between you and I have been...?" House prompted, half-curious to hear his answer, fully fearful of it as well.

"Weird?" Wilson questioned as if unsure of his own phrasing.

"Ah, well that explains everything," House said crossing his arms across his chest. He continued to steadily regard Wilson as his friend struggled to find the right words to either explain or dig himself out of the hole he had started.

"Yeah. I mean, haven't you felt like things have been... changing?"

"Changing how?"

"I don't know. Do they not seem different to you?" He asked as he threw his hands up. It was something Wilson did when he could not readily put his hands on his hips. He flailed.

"You seem different to me. Like ate the paste different. Thankfully your patients are all dying or they'd really be screwed."

"So things seem the same to you?"

This was it. Lie or tell the truth. Tell Wilson that he had these stupid, fuzzy, warm all over feelings for him. Or lie and tell him that nothing was going on and all the weird vibes he had to be picking up on, because he wasn't blind, deaf and dumb, were just all in his imagination. House did a quick benefit analysis for each possibility. Telling him the truth would result in obvious rejection, weeks of awkwardness and possibly the ever dreaded sympathy looks from those dark brown eyes. Lying would result in House being more careful about what he did around Wilson and things going back to normal.

"Yeah, things seem the exact same to me. Why?"

"Because things have been weird."

"Wow. Look at that, full circle," House made a circle with his pointer finger in the air and Wilson grabbed it and held. House felt the impact of skin on skin contact tingle down his spine and to other unmentionable regions.

"You're lying," Wilson said with his gaze glued to House's.

"Everybody lies," House said softly. "Now can I please have my finger back? I need it to perform magical healing ceremonies and the like."

"What I don't understand is why you would be lying. I mean it's not as if this weirdness is coming _just_ from you," Wilson said as he released House's finger. House flexed it as if it had somehow been injured by the soft grasp.

"So you're projecting weirdness too? Like that's something new. All your caring and empathy was never exactly normal."

Wilson leaned forward on House's desk and House couldn't help but watch the muscle of Wilson's arm bunch. Wilson was now close enough that House could tell he was freshly showered though his hair was dried. Probably with a blow dryer, House mentally sneered.

"Are you telling me you don't feel this?" Wilson whispered harshly, as if he was out of breath.

To lie or tell the truth. To lie or tell the truth. To lie or tell the truth when the only thing you want is sitting close enough to touch.

"You have be more specific. This. What is this? Feel what?"

"This," Wilson whispered again as he got up from House's chair. He turned House's chair and kneeled slightly in front of him. Wilson placed his hand on House's neck and started a feather light touch, and then a slow press and release of pressure. His lips hovered so mouth-wateringly close to his on, but they never touched. House's breath unconsciously hitched and he silently cursed himself.

"You lied," Wilson said his eyes showing conflicted emotion that House would later qualify as the fight or flight instinct. As he brushed his fingers once more against House's neck he stood and walked out of his office.

The ball was in his court now.


	5. You're Saying You're Scared Is All

It was well past the hour where Wilson generally cared to stay at the hospital. He was waiting for House to come into his office... and what? Talk to him, be honest, kiss him? All of the above. House never came though and Wilson continued to slowly watch the arms of his watch swirl around and around.

Did House think this was easy for him? Did he think that Wilson had always had a thing for him? Okay, maybe it was bigger than a thing. Did House think that Wilson was just unashamedly playing out a whim? This cost him. The vulnerability he handed House wielded the power to hurt him badly. It could be something he'd regret for the rest of his life, at least, he'd think it was if he didn't trust House so inexplicably.

After an hour passed of this mind numbing circling thoughts he gathered his things and exited his office. He passed House's ready to confront him, but found that his friend had of course already been gone for a while now. Getting in his car he drove straight to House's, the anger inside of him growing like a living thing.

How dare House mess up his life like this and then not even have the decency to talk to him about it? Did he just want him to ignore it, or pretend it never happened. Wilson wouldn't do that. He was a mature, somewhat well adjusted man. He was not, nor would ever be House. And House would just have to deal with that, would just have to deal with the fact that Wilson was a grown up! A god damn grown up who wanted one real discussion. That's all, and if House didn't want him then they could deal with it and move on from there. What was so hard about that?

Taking the apartment stairs two at a time Wilson bounded to House's door and rapped his knuckles smartly against it. He heard a muffled curse as House got up and came to answer it. As the door was swung open he came face to face with House and suddenly found himself quite speechless despite all the rapid fragments of one-sided conversations he had been practicing.

"Oh great, it's you," House said with his voice laced in sarcasm. 

"Let me in." Wilson was proud to hear his voice was firm and held a no nonsense tone.

"Why, you think you'd at least by me dinner first. I am a lady, Jimmy."

"Would you fuck off for once and let me in, or I swear to God I'm going to knock you over and walk in myself."

"Whoa," House said mockingly as he backed up and let Wilson pass. "Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

The door slammed shut and Wilson's breathing was hard as if he had run a long distance. Distantly he summed it up to his simple, burning anger. House's back was facing the door and he was facing House. Wilson took a step forward, put his hands on House's shoulders and pushed him unceremoniously backwards until his back pressed against the door.

"No," Wilson said as he moved his face closer to House's, their eyes almost level. "I fucking kiss you with it."

Before House could protest Wilson's lips were on his. They were neither soft nor teasing. They were hard and unyielding. They took what he knew innately to be his. His tongue slid into House's mouth demanding a response, and it got one. House's tongue moved against his own, his teeth nipped back at Wilson's lip.

Wilson's hands were still on House's shoulders, they now moved up to cup his face to hold him in place. House's hands were felt dimly against his back as he gathered him closer. Wilson's groin had tightened painfully, and he realized he had been more turned on than ever in his life. He almost didn't know how to stand it.

They broke apart. Wilson stumbled backwards like a drunk and House stayed slouched against the door. They regarded each other as they tried to slow their heartbeats and breathing. House was the first to break the silence.

"That was," he licked his lips unconsciously, "that was a bad idea."

"What?" 

"That.. whatever you'd like to call it," House waved his hand as if unaffected but Wilson saw it tremble slightly, "was a bad idea. Wilson, you and I are friends. What were you thinking?" 

"What are you _thinking_?" Wilson's voice sputtered out.

"That it was a bad idea," House spoke slowly. 

"Would you stop saying that?!"

"You asked." 

"No, I mean what are you thinking lying to me still? Do you think I'm blind or stupid? You have feelings for me." Wilson hurried closer to House who was about to retreat into his bedroom and jabbed his finger into his face. "You have feelings for me. I have feelings for you."

"Obviously," House said with an arched eyebrow with eyes that were now regarding Wilson's erect proof of those feelings.

"Oh, you're really one to talk," Wilson's hand shot out to cup the bulge now forming behind House's jeans. He applied a slight pressure and heard House let out something between a whimper and a moan. It was erotic. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

Wilson removed his hand and brought his other up to House's face in a surprisingly tender caress. He moved his lips onto House's once more and put all of those confusing feelings into touches. Touches of tongues, and teeth, and lips.

"Wilson, I don't want-"

"House. Greg," he whispered, "you aren't going to lose me. You could never."

House's shoulders relaxed with relief and Wilson felt pride for having hit the nail on the head. Then he smiled at House, and House leaned forward and finally, finally kissed _him_.

They were in this together now.


End file.
